


wings of feather and wax

by bucky_bunny_teeth (buckybunnyteeth)



Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: Angst, Dorks in Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Changes, Porn With Plot, before and after the fall, mostly plot slightly porn, sun metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:20:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3075455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybunnyteeth/pseuds/bucky_bunny_teeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was beautiful, he could see that. But if he were to be selfish- to give her what she wanted of him- he would forever be searching for dark hair and eyes where there were none. Calloused hands and a lop sided smirk. </p><p>Wax wings. </p><p>(Before and after the fall of Icarus.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	wings of feather and wax

"My heart wants roots. My mind wants wings. I cannot bear their bickerings."  
E. Y. Harburg 

...

Pythagoras is always cold. Even on the hottest of summer nights and no matter how close he sits to the fire he is always cold. It is one of the first things Jason notices about his new friend.

He only asks about it once, and Pythagoras just shrugs him off with a smile that Jason recognizes as forced.

“He has winter in his bones,” The Oracle says to him once, without him having mentioned his friend, “The sun has left him.”

“What do you mean?”

The older woman cast her eyes to the ground.

“He has known much sadness, lost many. He is a good man but...” she bit her lip and when she spoke again it carried much more weight.

“When the sun has set no candle can replace it.”

That didn't sit well with Jason.

The next time they went on mission he watches his friend carefully. He finds that Pythagoras more than once shivered in the sunlight.

...

“Why does he do that?”

“Do what?”

“Don't tell me you haven’t noticed, Hercules.”

“I notice many things. Nothing gets past me, Jason!”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. I am all seeing, my friend.”

“Then tell me why Pythagoras is doing that.”

Hercules frowned and turned in the direction Jason was indicating. Their friend was sitting on the window ledge at the side of the bar, eyes lost in the sunset beyond the window. No emotion was present on his face, but his and hand came up to worry a strand of old leather cord around his wrist. He looked lost within his own mind.

Hercules sighed.

“Pythagoras is large of heart and brain,” he spoke softly to the other man, holding his gaze sadly, “He can see pain in others and work out the right …equation, if you will, to fix it in no time. But in the time that I have known him he has always had a sadness about him, a mourning, that I can neither touch nor dispel myself. I think- I fear that his sadness is the only which he cannot make a formula to fix.”

“But why is he sad?”

Hercules smiled at Jason’s worry. He truly was the best man in all of Atlantis.

“I do not know. He will not say.”

“But shouldn't we-”

Hercules held up his hand to stop him.

“Jason, if his sadness is as close to his heart as I think it is, we will be of no help. This is something only he can save himself from.”

Jason sighed and his shoulders slumped.

“I hate seeing him in pain.”

“I know. But life is pain, Jason. Anyone who says differently is trying to sell you something.”

Hercules nearly jumped out of his skin at the big booming laugh that Jason let out. Good man or no, he can be downright strange at times. And he spilled Hercules' wine. Idiot.  
...

“I wonder, you know.”

“Hmmm. What about?”

“If you are happy.”

“You wonder about my … happiness?”

“Worry, actually.”

“I am fine, Jason.”

“Okay. But if you ever aren't-”

“-I shall seek you out.”

…

There is little that Pythagoras hates more than days after they get paid. The nights are fine- full of wine and easily found sleep. But the days.

The days are heralded by Hercules' hangover and Jason's early morning walks. Pythagoras has yet to ask where he went on those walks. He had so little to himself in their life, Pythagoras was hesitant to intrude on something that was entirely his.

But this meant that it was up to Pythagoras to make sure they would not starve (or leave their earnings at the mercy of Hercules.)

Pythagoras was not opposed to shopping, not grieved by it. In the early morning when the light was still blue and few people were walking the streets, Pythagoras even found peace in the simple gathering of food.

But it also meant seeing the bread maker’s daughter.

The bread maker’s daughter who blushed and giggled and grabbed his arm. She was friendly. But she did not desire to be Pythagoras' friend. Hercules hadn't had to explain her gestures and smiles to the younger man, though he had. Many times. And with Diagrams.

The young man sighed to himself as he rounded the corner and spotted the bread stand and the girl. She truly was beautiful. She held the pleasant roundness of a woman well fed, and her straw colour curls fell endearingly around her flushed face. She was always kind and smiling, her green eyes dancing in the sunlight.

“Pythagoras!” She called out, song bird voice sounding out down the lane at him, her smile already turning hopeful and shy.

He didn't let his steps falter as he walked towards her, as much as he wanted to slip away and pretend to have not seen her. He could feel dread and guilt pooling in his stomach as he walked, and he hoped it would not show on his face. Pythagoras could not give the bread maker’s daughter what she desired, but it cost him nothing to be kind.

“I was beginning to think you were not coming,” she giggled, hand twirling her hair as the other fluttered at her throat in nervous movement, “Y-you usually arrive earlier than this.”

His smile became real. Her kindness was genuine, despite the infatuation. She was not the kind of person who saw smiles and complements as currency.

“Late start, I'm afraid,” he replied to her softly. His head was paining him, a curse from last night’s wine.

“Hercules?”

Pythagoras chuckled.

“All of Atlantis knows my pain.”

The girl giggled again, and Pythagoras could feel the other men in the street stop to stare at her. She could have anyone that she desired, and yet she wanted Pythagoras. It was strange.

Or perhaps it was safe. Pythagoras knew what he was, his thin body and soft voice offered no fear to anyone. She herself possessed enough mass and musculature to overpower him. Perhaps that was what the bread maker’s daughter desired, a man who would do her no harm.

“Just one loaf, was it?”

“Oh- three actually.”

“Three?” she exclaimed with a laugh, hands moving to pick out the best biggest, best cooked, loaves for him, “Are you celebrating?”

“I suppose. We can finally afford to eat, and that is celebration in its self.”

She laughed once more as she bound the bread in the cloth he had bought.

“It is good to know that you will not starve. You already look half way there.”

Pythagoras had a laugh on his tongue when her head snapped up, horrified look all over her face.

“N-not that you look b-bad or anything. I did not mean- I-”

“Its fine,” he said in a chuckle, “you are not far from the truth. If I had my way I would be ten times as large as I am now. But alas, I am too afflicted to be so.”

“Afflicted?”

“Yes,” Pythagoras grinned, “I have a case of Hercules.”

A peel of laughter left her throat in surprise, dissolving quickly into giggles. Pythagoras laughed along with her, but when she looked at him once more with adoration in her eyes, it quickly stopped in his throat. He felt a sense of shame and hoped that his kindness did not lead the girl on.

Pythagoras took the bread from her hands and hoped she did not see how sick he felt.

Because she was just that; a girl. Young and naive and sweet. To break her heart would surely damn him. But he couldn't be what she wanted. Needed.

In truth he was just a boy, barely older than her in years, but if they were too count the rings in his bones they would see how old he felt. They would see them rotting from the inside. Black mould among rings of years.

“Thank you, for the bread.”

“The pleasure is mine. I look forward to your company, Pythagoras.”

She looked so kind in that moment. For a moment, between thinking of heartbreak and guilt, Pythagoras wondered if he could be what she wished. If he could return her smiles and touches, give her the love she wanted and save her from heartbreak. He did not wish to cause her pain, did not want to be responsible for pain. It was a selfish thought.

She was beautiful, he could see that. But if he were to be selfish- to give her what she wanted of him- he would forever be searching for dark hair and eyes where there were none. Calloused hands and a lop sided smirk.

Wax wings.

“Thank you all the same,” he said too quickly, feet already walking him backwards as the smile slowly dimmed on her face, “Um- see you tomorrow morning!”

He ran away.

He ran away from the bread maker’s daughter, guilt and shame churning in the stomach, as his feet carried him away from a selfish thought and the memory of wax wings.

…

Sometimes Pythagoras dreams of falling. He always wakes with a start and with a name brimming on his tongue. He never gets any sleep after these dreams.

Because he is never falling alone.

…

“She is quite beautiful.”

Pythagoras raises his head from the table, images of triangles still swirling in his mind. He frowns at Jason.

“I'm sorry?”

“The barmaid,” Jason chuckled, “She is very pretty.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose she is.”

Jason frowned, but his good humoured smile remained, and Pythagoras instantly knew that he had said the wrong thing.

“Pythagoras, have you not seen the way she keeps looking at you?”

“Um, not really.”

The smile slipped completely away. He looked confused for a moment before something seemed to come together behind his eyes.

“Pythagoras, I am not Hercules,” Jason said softly, “You don’t have to keep things from me. If you have no interest in women-”

“It’s not that.”

Because it wasn't. Pythagoras is attracted to women, has had feelings for women in the past. The ideas of gender had little sway over his heart. But-

“Then what is it? I can see you are keeping things from me, and that they are causing you pain. You are my best friend, Pythagoras,” Jason lay his hand on the smaller man's shoulder with a tight grip, “I feel your pain as if it were my own.”

Pythagoras couldn't help but smile at that. Jason's heart was a vast place, where he housed his empathy for all the souls of Atlantis and beyond. He had no doubt that his friend would feel his pain, along with guilt over the thought of him suffering.

Pythagoras sighed. Maybe it was time to speak of it.

“Hercules once said that I knew nothing of heartbreak,” he spoke to his wide eyes best friend, voice barely above a whisper, “He was untrue. I know much of heartbreak. I feel its pressure in my chest with each breath I take. I can feel its hurt behind my eyes every time my mind is quiet. I am never apart from it.”

Jason looked akin to a kicked puppy.

“Who broke your heart?”

Pythagoras looked down into his drink and saw only swelling waves of a sea he had nightmares about.

“I doesn't matter. They are gone. I shall never see them again.”

 

Jason's face scrunched up in empathy for his sadness, and once again Pythagoras was grateful to have such a friend. Just as the other man was about to open his mouth, no doubt to offer kind and inspiring words, Hercules dropped down between them and launched into a story about how lovely and treacherous the bartenders wife is. In truth Pythagoras was grateful for the interruption and merriment that Hercules trailed with him, and he hoped that Jason would feel more at ease. There was nothing Jason could do to ease his heartache. Pythagoras feared that nothing and no one could ease his heart.

“Too Heroes!” Hercules roared and the bar roared back, drinks raising and sloshing all around them.

…

“I cannot understand that man!”

Pythagoras bit his lip, hiding a smile as Jason ranted.

“One could argue that he feels the same about you, Jason.”

Jason spun on his heels to face Pythagoras, frustration blooming in his eyes. They were on the roof, watching as the day ended and the cool night set in around them. The nights they usually spent like this were peaceful. Unfortunately they had spent the day with Daedalus.

“I don’t understand how a man so smart- a genius who makes things that better the people, can be so... so-”

Jason made a violent spinning gesture with his hands in place of words.

Pythagoras chuckled.

“I know what you mean. He is a great man, but he is not a man of the people that you are.”

“And the fact that he calls you a fool!” Jason shouted as he dropped down heavily to sit across from his friend, “He has no right to call you that! No sense! Should I ever hear him refer to you like that again I...? I will...”

“Make hand gestures at him?”

Jason frowned at him, friendly exasperation mixing with the frustration.

“I am serious, Pythagoras,” he sighed, “He is such a difficult man, I don't know how his son must put up with him.”

Pythagoras felt suddenly cold. It felt as if a shadow had fallen across him and blocked out the warmth of the sun.

Fallen.

Falling.

Wax Wings.

Cheeky smile and brown eyes.

Calloused fingers and open skies.

Kisses in the dark.

Falling.

Falling.

Fall-

“He doesn't.”

Jason's eyes focused on his friend once again, Pythagoras' sudden and stiff words startling the frustration at Daedalus from him.

“Sorry?”

“Daedalus lost his son some years ago,” he would not meet Jason's eyes, fearing he would see another's face, “He is a brilliant man, but a broken one. He gets confused sometimes.”

“Oh.”

Pythagoras closed his eyes against the sunset.

“...Did you know him?”

“He-”

Perfect.

Half my soul.

My lover.

My stars.

“- was my friend.”

He heard Jason shift. His sadness was probably hanging in the air between them, and he wanted nothing more to run away to his bunk, too forget this conversation and pretend to be okay again.

But instead he stayed there with his eyes closed, bowed away from the setting sun. Like the coward he knew himself to be.

And because Jason is brave. Because Jason is touched by the gods and too kind for a man of this world to be so unselfishly; he saw his friends pain and said nothing. He slid close to him, lay his arm around Pythagoras' shoulders and let the sit in silence until his bones felt warm again.

…

Sometimes Pythagoras hates the sun. Sometimes, when it is sunny and beautiful and wonderful, he cannot even step outside.

And on some day, when his belly is full and the sun beams down on him gently, he can understand why his lover flew too high and fell.

Those days came less before Jason burst into his life.

But now they come with a twist to his heart.

He wants to move on, but at night all he can see is a pair of dark eyes and curling hair bound back with a leather cord. Feel calloused hands against his shoulders. Upturned lips on the back of his neck.

He wants a dreamless sleep. But he can never make himself take the tincture.

He is selfish.  
…

His heart was swallowed by Poseidon years ago.

But it’s still beating.

Beneath the waves.

It’s beating still.

In another’s grave.

…

Ariadne knew little of Jason’s friend, Pythagoras. She had been present whilst Daedalus had presented to her father years ago (before his madness became debilitating, before the fall) and the young man had been present for a few of them.

The boy that had been was gone now. He looked the same, but his fool like smiles and easy grins were replaced by features she was more accustomed too. Smiles intended to hide, and grins that came with that stab of guilt.

In between one breath and the next, spaces in which she reserved the right to be Ariadne and not Queen, she let herself feel sad for him. Too miss the boy he had been. The friend she had never let herself have.

…

Pythagoras met Hercules in his first week of living in Atlantis. He had just left Samos, sad eyed and hopeful, and ready to move into his uncle’s old house.

He had met Hercules on the street and had been instantly terrified. He could smell the wine on the older man's breathe, and the bruises on his knuckles and all that Pythagoras could see was his father.

He ran away before Hercules could get a word in. He was going to ask if he wanted to share a flaggen of wine.

It took six weeks before Pythagoras actually properly talked to the other man, and the only reason he did was because of his habitually bleeding heart.

For two weeks he had been trying to convince Daedalus to let him learn from him, to help him and serve him But Daedalus was difficult at the best time. He had yet to get past the work shop door.

So when he came upon Hercules dancing for enough money to buy wine outside the tavern, while a group of men jeered and laughed-

Well Pythagoras was already pretty steamed, so when he saw the older man in such desperation well-

Well he acted very unlike himself.

The night ended with Hercules coming to live with him and a trio of men fearing the small mathematician.

Hercules would never say it but he owed Pythagoras his life for taking him in. And Pythagoras would never say exactly how much it had saved him to not be alone in that house.

…

It all comes together before Ariadne and Jason's wedding.

Pythagoras met Icarus by accident.

(“The will of the Gods it was, my love. They gave you to me.”)

And Icarus comes back into his life in much the same way.

He falls from the sky.

...

Pythagoras met Icarus on his third trip too Daedalus' work shop. He was just about to leave, to storm out of the cluttered room and make a vow to never come back again that he would break the next morning.

He had been passing the stairs of the house when he heard a loud snap, a shout and was suddenly lying flat on his back in the dust, with a weight pressing down on him.

“I am so sorry!” a voice drifted into his ear while his head spun, “I must have mis- are you alright, I didn't hit you too hard did I?”

Before his vision could settle Pythagoras was being hauled to his feet, calloused hands brushing him down while the warm voice continued to speak. Could a voice be warm? This one certainly was, warm and soft, a voice that could persuade anyone to do anything. Warm, matching the hands that were holding on to his jaw.

“Oh, I-uh, think I am-”

Pythagoras opened his eyes and immediately felt them go wide.

“-dead.”

“What?” The man, no the vision before him asked, no mere man could be as beautiful as this.

Dark eyes and dark hair set against olive coloured skin. His mouth was turned down, but it held the promises of crooked grins and smirks, and his shoulders oh his shoulders-

“Can you hear me?”

\- His eyes looked like deep pools of almost black brown, not flat like a painting but more like a precious stone, never ending in its rich colour. And his arms matched his shoulders, leanly muscled, and his hands felt large and nice upon his face. He had to be a servant of Aphrodite, his beauty was so radiant. Or perhaps of Apollo-

The man- no be looked no older than Pythagoras- they boy before him chuckled.

“I can assure you I am no deity, my friend. Though I am flattered you would think so.”

“Oh … did I say that out loud?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

The boy chuckled again, and Pythagoras felt a distinct feeling of loss as his warm hands slid from his face to firmly grip his shoulders.

“I believe I have rattled your brain, my friend.”

Pythagoras smiled at the other boy.

“I think it had already been made so after my meeting with Daedalus.”

The other boy grimaced.

“I am sorry for my father, brilliant as he is he can be a complete arse sometimes.”

Pythagoras frowned.

“Father?”

“Oh!” The other boy exclaimed, “How rude of me,” he stepped back and Pythagoras instantly missed his hands, “I am Icarus, son of Daedalus and his constant disappointment.”

A laugh slipped from Pythagoras' throat, causing the other man to grin crookedly. Just like he had thought he could.

“I am Pythagoras,” he offered, still chuckling, “A fool and time waster, according to your father.”

“A fool? It is good to meet another fool, I was beginning to think I was the only one.”

“What does he call people besides fools?”

“... Goats, unfortunately.”

“Ah.”

Icarus chuckled at Pythagoras' confused face, instantly entrancing the other boy with his smile. He could feel his mind stop its usual spinning and tripping, could feel his thoughts slow down and focus entirely on the person in front of him. It was alarming to Pythagoras, to be so utterly lost on someone he had only just met.

“May I uh, offer you a drink? I did just almost flatten you, I should at least apologise properly.”

For a heartbeat Pythagoras hesitated, remembering the stink of wine on his father and heavy, bloodied, hands.

But he was not his father.

And this was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen.

He could have one drink.

“Alright.”

Icarus' smile could outshine the sun.

…

Icarus became a fixture in Pythagoras' life instantly. Whenever he went to petition Daedalus he always left with Icarus, in search of a quiet place to commiserate and eat away the frustration.

The other boy proved to be just as amazing as his father. Pythagoras could not understand how anyone could consider him a fool, his hands could create the most amazing of contraptions while his mind dreamed up ten more. From moving children’s toys to prototypes for mechanical bread kneaders and water transporters. Watching him work and working beside him was a blessing to Pythagoras, he could feel his mind expanding with possibilities and knowledge.

But other days he felt … something else.

On hot days working in Icarus' rooftop workshop, when the other boy would strip off his tunic, and Pythagoras would get a good view on how his muscles moved. When they would have a few glasses of wine and would end up twined around each other in the warmth of the setting sun. When Icarus would catch his gaze and hold it, stealing the very breath from his lungs. When their hands would brush and all thoughts would leave his mind.

Pythagoras knew that what he felt wasn't just friendship. He was no stranger to attraction, he had fallen in and out of frivolous attractions for most of his childhood. Even the fact that it was a man wasn't new to him.

But this time was different because he was almost certain that Icarus was looking at him the same way. That the feelings he had, which came on so strong and fast, may be more than simple attraction. That he may be on the cusp of falling in love.

But Pythagoras was nothing if not a man of Science and reason. He needed more evidence. So he waited a whole month before he even considered voicing his thoughts to the other boy. To gather facts. Field evidence. It had nothing to do with his twisting stomach. Not at all because he was afraid.

An entire month of sundown laughter and lingering touches. Working side by side every day and parting only when they remembered the hour. A month of falling asleep together in the same bed, to waking up to another smiling face. To somehow not being able to sleep without Icarus. Of dreaming of him on nights when they were not touching.

Half of him wanted to wait and see if Icarus would make the first move. But he knew that that came from a place of fear. So he decided one evening, when the suns warmth had yet to leave and the sky was still gold and pink, to be brave.

(And it was not at all so that it would be on his terms and in a place with a planned escape route. Not at all.)

Icarus and him had spent almost the entire day working in Daedalus' work shop, helping him to prepare a group of contraptions for him to show too Minos. Weapons. Every time Icarus looked at them he noticeably bit his tongue. Overall it became a long a frustrating day.

But it ended with them on the roof, collapsed side by side. Pythagoras was so close to the other boy he could feel his heartbeat through their clasped hands.

“Are you alright?” Icarus asked, rolling on to his side so his face was a mere breathe away from the other boys, “You seem to be breathing quite a lot.”

“Dose my breathing offend you?”

“No,” Icarus laughed, “But it would be better if you kept a rhythm.”

“I have plenty of rhythm.”

“You forget that I have heard you sing, my friend.”

Pythagoras blushed and Icarus laughed. Cheap wine truly went to his head in the oddest way.

“So why are you?”

“What?”

“Keeping such bad rhythm with your lungs,” Icarus poked a finger into his side, “Are you unwell? Did you hurt yourself today?”

“I uh...”

“You know I will only worry more if you do not tell me?”

Pythagoras rolled on to his side so he could see the other boys teasing smile better. It was now or never. Now or he would keep being scientific and avoid being human for a long time yet. Avoid even the possibility of being hurt.

He took a deep breath and watched as Icarus mirrored the serious expression on his face.

“I-” his voice cracked, and Icarus bought a hand up to cradle his neck, “I sometimes find it hard to believe that you are real. That someone so perfect could exist, and do so by my side. And other times I have to pray thanks to the gods-” he swallowed again, “-to Aphrodite herself, for sending you so me.”

Icarus frowned.

“Are you saying-?”

“That I am in love with you? Yes, very much so.”

For a heartbeat Icarus was silent, face giving away nothing as he gazed into Pythagoras eyes. But just before his panic became debilitating, the other boys face split into a large grin, eyes dancing in the rose coloured sun light.

“I was beginning to think you had convinced yourself I was acting as all friends do,” he spoke softly, his hand moving from neck to his curls.

Pythagoras grinned.

“Friends don’t treat me like you do.”

Icarus let out a sudden burst of laughter, before leaning forwards and pressing his mouth to Pythagoras'. It was his first kiss. And it was perfect. Warm and soft and perfect.

His hands, shaking and pale, came up and lay against Icarus neck. He balled the fabric up in his hand as Icarus deepened the kiss.

The other boy groaned and rolled closer to Pythagoras, pressing their fronts together, and slipping his hand up under the thinner man’s tunic to wrap around his ribs. Pythagoras let out and involuntary moan, colours bursting behind his eyelids. He felt so warm, his veins on fire with Icarus touch on his skin being the only thing to keep him from bursting alight.

Icarus pulled his mouth away and Pythagoras whined softly.

“Don't worry, love,” He chuckled, brushing his thumb along Pythagoras' bottom lip, “I just wanted to … try something.”

Pythagoras frowned.

“What?”

Icarus grinned and the hand that had been cupping the thinner man’s side came down to his trousers. Warm calloused hands dipped under the fabric and brushed against his hardening cock.

Pythagoras gasped and lurched forwards into Icarus, face pressing to the side of his neck.

“Oh.”

“Just 'oh'?”

“Oh, don’t …. Don’t-”

“Stop?”

“Yes.”

Icarus pressed a kiss to the side of Pythagoras' throat as he pressed his hand down further to grasp him fully. Pythagoras' moan turned into a stutter as he moved his hand against him, squeezing and pulling and driving him mad. He had never been touched like this, barely touched himself like this, but if being with someone always felt this good then he could understand why Hercules chased his women so much. Which was a terrifying thought; understanding Hercules.

Icarus twisted his hand, dragging his palm across the top of his cock, and Pythagoras' eyes rolled into the back of his head while his body let out a low moan.

“Oh, gods.”

“There we go, love,” Icarus murmured while he sucked a mark into his neck, “Almost there.”

Pythagoras frowned. He didn't want this feeling to end, didn't want to know what missing the warm feeling of another hand on him felt like, didn't want the fire in his veins and the buzzing under his skin to leave, how-

But then something in his gut twisted suddenly, and a loud groan took all the air from his lungs while he found his release in Icarus' hand.

He gasped for breathe as his body shook, and all words seemed to be stopped in his throat so he pressed his lips to his lovers throat again and again, trying to convey his thanks and love in those small brushes of his lips.

God he felt like he was flying.

Icarus chuckled and retracted his hand from Pythagoras' pants.

“Didn't go too fast did I?”

Pythagoras shook his head against the other boy’s neck. Too fast? How could he think that? If Pythagoras could he would go back in time so that instead of spending a month being afraid he could spend it under Icarus' hands.

“I don’t know what I have done to deserve you,” Icarus kissed into his neck, “I need to know which god saw fit to give me someone so beautiful.”

Pythagoras laughed, still too on fire to blush yet.

“I haven't even touched you yet.”

Icarus chuckled leaning in again to press a firm kiss to Pythagoras' lips.

“I do not need you too,” he whispered, gazing into the other man's eyes, “You have already given me so much to be thankful for.”

“But do you want me too?”

“Sorry?”

“Touch you.”

Something flashed in Icarus' eyes, dark as they were they could hide nothing. A shiver rolled up Icarus' body.

“Please.”

Pythagoras smiled and rolled the two of them so he was hovering over Icarus now. He looked so beautiful, dark hair curling on the wood beneath him and his face slack and relaxed. He was looking up at Pythagoras with the usual laughter in his eyes, but now it was touched with nervous hope that was being repeated in his heartbeat.

His hands shook as his ran them up and under Icarus' tunic too pull it off, and shook more as he took in the other man's chest and stomach. It was not a new sight, but it was a new feeling. He lay his hands gently on Icarus' chest and was immediately struck with how different they were, how his pale skin stood out against the olive colour of Icarus. They were so different, in almost every way, and yet the fit.

“Like the sun and the moon.”

Icarus laughed, loud and bright.

“I am the sun then?”

Pythagoras blushed.

“To me you are.”

Icarus' face lost all its hesitation and nerves, instead becoming soft as he gazed up at Pythagoras.

“I thought the sun and the moon were never to meet, lest the world stop.”

“Well you did fall from the sky.”

“Has anyone ever told you, Pythagoras, that you are a hopeless romantic?”

“Romantic; no. But hopeless I have heard often.”

Icarus laughed and pulled the skinnier man down to capture his lips. They kissed each other lazily for a long moment, while Pythagoras' hands wandered over the other man’s skin. He found that if he ran his hands over Icarus' nipples he would groan, but if he were to pinch them he would get a buck and a whimper. He found that his sides were ticklish and so was the underside of his chin. And, most beautiful of all, if Pythagoras bites his pules point softly his cock will jump in his pants.

“You are killing me!” Icarus moaned as Pythagoras bit at his pulse for the third time in a row.

Pythagoras smoothed a hand down Icarus' stomach slowly, stopping at the top of his trousers. He smiled into his lover’s neck and played with the fraying edge as an idea came into his mind.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He inched his fingertips under the fabric, just barely touching the skin and not at all where the other man needed him too.

Icarus threw his head back and let out a groaning, “No.”

“As you wish.”

Pythagoras pulled himself up and off of Icarus, whose face became suddenly afraid, as if he thought Pythagoras was going to just leave him in this state. But when the smaller man resettled between his thighs instead, with his hands ready to rid him of his trousers, his face went lax in what could only be some kind of awe.

Slowly, out of nerves and not teasing, Pythagoras pulled down the other man's pants until his cock sprang free. Now Pythagoras was not an expert on other people’s anatomy, but he would like to think that this part of Icarus was just as pretty as the rest of him.

Pythagoras gulped as an idea entered his mind.

“Well... scientific endeavour.”

Icarus raised his head, question poised on his lips, but it was suddenly stolen from him and replaced by a shocked moan as Pythagoras sealed his lips around Icarus' cock.

“Gods!”

Pythagoras hummed, meaning to convey his mirth, and the sensation made Icarus' back arch as he groaned out his lover’s name.

Knowing that he was out of his depth and had taken all of Icarus that he could in his mouth, Pythagoras wrapped his hand around the base of his lover’s length and began to mimic what the other had done before, twisting and pulling his hand while his mouth sucked and licked at the top.

“Aphrodite,” Icarus groaned, hands twisting in Pythagoras' hair, “She sent you- gods- or Ares, for this is surely tortu-oh-”

Pythagoras hummed again and Icarus forgot all about words, and any other feelings besides his lover’s mouth. He was just building up a rhythm that had Icarus' legs trembling when the other boy suddenly gasped, hands twisted roughly in his hair and salty liquid exploded into his mouth. It was all rather shocking (and a little bit disgusting taste wise) but the sounds of euphoria spilling from his lover’s mouth made it worth it.

His lover. His Icarus.

Pythagoras pulled away only when Icarus began to beg, a small smile and a familiar blush over taking his face. Icarus cracked open his eyes as Pythagoras came to hover over him, and he laughed at his lover.

“After all of that, all that we did to each other, you still have it in you to blush.”

Pythagoras pressed his face into the side of the other boy’s neck.

For a moment they lay there, just breathing as Icarus stroked his hand through Pythagoras hair, and they both drifted closer and closer to sleep.

“We should find a bed,” Pythagoras mumbled into his lover skin, feeling too warm and sated to even open his eyes.

“We are young,” Icarus breathed out against his forehead, “We can afford to sleep on the floor a little.”

“We will regret it in the morning.”

“My love,” Icarus chuckled, “After what you have done to me I do not think I can walk.”

Pythagoras felt his blush increase, and his hand slowed its swirls on the other boy’s chest.

“That good?”

“Better.”

Pythagoras laughed, feeling weightless and unburdened in Icarus' arms. The sun was setting around them but he knew that he would stay warm, as long as he had Icarus he would be warm.

He drifted off to sleep knowing for the first time in a long time that he is loved.

…

He spent the next two years by Icarus' side. Hercules seemed oblivious to what was going on between the two young men, but Pythagoras didn't mind. He quite liked having Icarus to himself. They were not hiding, not in the least. Where ever they went they were affectionate, Icarus could not seem to help himself, he always seemed to be touching Pythagoras in some way. They were in love after all.

For two years they slept in each other’s beds, lived out of each other’s pockets and loved every minute of it. Pythagoras had always been told that relationships required work, were fuelled by drama, but what he had with Icarus was as easy as breathing. It was warm and intense and sometimes overwhelming, but nothing had ever come so naturally to him as loving Icarus.

Every night as the some went down they took each other apart and put the other back together again. A man of science he may be, but in those moments Pythagoras truly believed that Icarus had been made especially for him to love.

Two years they were lovers.

Then Icarus and his father were sent to Crete by Minos for his weapons to be built. Icarus left him with a kiss and a smile. And he never came back.

They still tell the story of boy who flew too high and too close to the sun. The whisper it in the tavern whenever Pythagoras walks by.

They never found his body. It was lost. Along with what remained of Pythagoras' heart.

…

Later, so much later, Jason fell through his window.

For a few heartbeats he had thought his prayers had been answered.

Then he cursed himself for letting it beat again.

His foolish heart, tacked together with nails and wood.

It would never learn.

…

When Icarus comes back, just as beautiful as he remembered him to be, Pythagoras cannot believe it. Cannot trust it.

His love, his always love, speaks of being dragged under the waves as the stand in the temple, his friends and the queen and the Oracle watching on. He speaks of being dragged under and under and not drowning. Of visions of a city made of glass and metal that makes Jason’s eyes go wide.

(“-I begged, Pythagoras! I pleaded with the gods to not take me, not without seeing you once more. Please you have too-”)

\- dragged under until he saw black. And then he awoke, not in the next life, but in a faraway land to the south, on a beach in a storm.

(“-I have spent my every waking hour trying to get back to you- struggling back to Atlantis! I am sorry it took me this long, but-”)

Hercules looks at Pythagoras with such pity that he wants to hit him. The queen has the same look and he wonders what he had done to deserve it from her.

Icarus gets close enough that he lays is forehead against his lovers, eyes filled with pain as he continues to beg-

(“-Please, my love. Please you must believe me to be who I am, my heart has been broken every day I have been without you-”)

They touch and for the first time in so long Pythagoras feels warm and safe and loved. He can feel his heart beating in his chest and the ice melting from his bones.

He can see a boy with wings of feather and wax falling to his doom.

He runs.

Maybe he is not meant for the sun any more.

**Author's Note:**

> I deliberately wrote little of Icarus because he hasn't been in the show yet and I didn't want to kind of define the character myself if that makes sense. I just really really needed to write something about them you know, because of how few fic they have and "write the fan fiction you want to see in the world" and that junk.
> 
> Um I think I made Pythagoras bi/pan/demi in this, left it open to reader interpretation, and I think Icarus is Pythagoras-sexual aka 'in crazy butt love with him' 
> 
> Tell me what you think of my shameless sun metaphors/foreshadowing and other fandom references. 
> 
>  
> 
> Unbeated, because of reasons, so sorry if I missed any mistakes.


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